


Vulcan Love Slave

by OccasionalStorytelling



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Federation, M/M, Master/Slave, Non-Sexual Bondage, Slave James T. Kirk, Vulcan Prince Spock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-14 19:01:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29423475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OccasionalStorytelling/pseuds/OccasionalStorytelling
Summary: S’chn T’gai Spock, secretly gay and son of Emperor Sarek of the Vulcan Territories, has a wife who's in love with another man. Though publicly, the two Vulcans must maintain the semblance of their relationship, T'Pring offers to sever their marriage bond, so they can each pursue other relationships in private. To aid in that effort, she gives Spock a gift: an Orion slave. Unfortunately, Spock soon finds out that Jim Kirk is not Orion, nor does it seem possible to keep him as a slave.A fake-dating au, only they're faking a master/slave dynamic
Relationships: James T. Kirk/Spock
Comments: 27
Kudos: 65





	1. Chapter 1

S’chn T’gai Spock, son of Emperor Sarek, kept his hands clasped firmly in his lap. He concentrated on taking deep breaths as he tried to calm himself.

“Do not be overly upset, husband,” T’Pring said. She stood behind him, but he could feel her presence through their bond.

“Do not presume that what you are sensing from me is emotion, wife,” Spock said.

“I have sensed many things through our bond,” T’Pring said. “To pretend otherwise would be illogical, and an inefficient use of our time.”

“Apparently, we now have all the time in the world together,” Spock muttered. He closed his eyes and focused on his breathing exercise.

“You are not romantically or sexually interested in me. I feel the same way about you,” T’Pring said. “I propose an arrangement.”

“What kind of arrangement?” Spock unclasped his hands and turned to face her.

“I have another mate. You know of Stonn?”

“I know of him,” Spock said quietly, trying to suppress the hurt he was feeling. He was not a good enough Vulcan to please his father, and after less than one hour with T’Pring, she’d decided he was not a good enough Vulcan to please her, either. He should have expected as much.

“The bond between you and I will be severed by a healer. We will pursue other relationships, though publicly we will maintain this marriage.” T’Pring sounded sure of herself. She’d considered every angle, and she didn’t expect Spock to refuse.

“Suppose I don’t allow it,” Spock said.

“Suppose I let word slip that you are not interested in any woman, Vulcan or otherwise,” T’Pring raised an eyebrow.

“Suppose my father had you killed for spreading such a rumor,” Spock said, but he could feel himself starting to flush green with embarrassment. She’d sensed it through the marriage bond. She knew he was…Vulcans didn’t have a word for it, but Spock knew he would never be satisfied with a female mate. If his father knew, it would be yet another shame, another of Spock’s failings to add to the list. T’Pring _did_ have him right where she wanted him, and she knew it.

“Let us not waste time discussing hypothetical situations,” T’Pring said. “The healer is already here. Shall we go?”

At the very least, it meant being free of the bond. Spock could feel T’Pring at the edges of his mind. She was a cold front on a desert planet, she was a weed in the garden of his thoughts, she was…unpleasant. “We shall break the bond,” Spock said. He stood. “Are we assured of secrecy?”

“You will agree I have much more to lose than you if this were made public knowledge,” T’Pring glared at him.

Spock nodded. That was a good enough answer. He held his hands behind his back and followed her to the healer.

****************************************

When the meld ceased, Spock opened his eyes and was relieved to find himself alone in his mind once more.

“Be careful for the next few days,” the healer warned them. He was an old Vulcan, with a stern face. “Your minds will attempt to reassert a bond upon any physical contact, however brief.”

“Husband,” T’Pring turned to Spock. “I will be in my rooms with Stonn until the weakness passes.”

“Understood,” Spock said. He wanted to be angry with her, he wanted to yell at her for not wanting him, but he was so relieved to be free of her that he couldn’t work up the energy.

“I have a marriage gift for you,” T’Pring said.

“Did your family not already provide the appropriate tribute to my father?” Spock asked, raising one eyebrow.

“This is a personal gift,” T’Pring said. “It is my sincerest wish that you will find solace with another, such that you will not regret the loss of our bond.” She led him outside onto a wide, open balcony. They were careful not to touch. T’Pring kept her hands folded inside her sleeves. Spock kept his held behind his back. On the balcony sat a ship. Spock recognized it as being of Orion design. As they approached, the ship’s doors opened, and an Orion slave trader stepped out into the light, dragging three members of his cargo behind him. The party was followed by an angry security guard with a large baton.

“Your Imperial Highness,” the trader bowed. “And his honored wife. I can guarantee that my services are provided with the greatest discretion.”

The slaves were forced to their knees in a little row in front of him. They kept their heads bowed. Spock noticed that the slave on the right had to be encouraged to do so with a blow from the security guard’s baton.

“Husband, pick whichever one pleases you the most,” T’Pring said. She leaned close and whispered in his ear so the Orions couldn’t hear. “A slave will fulfill your… _needs_ …until you can find a more appropriate mate.”

Spock kept control of his facial expression as best he could at her words. He wouldn’t _need_ a slave to fulfill his needs. So far as he was concerned, he would likely be dead before his next Pon Farr, either by assassination, or by suicide if life with T’Pring was as he expected it to be. The slaves knelt in front of him, all with identical green skin, identical skimpy attire, and identical golden collars and wrist cuffs. They were all men. T’Pring must have had her suspicions about Spock even before the marriage to arrange this. Spock clenched his fists angrily, imaging her planning out her "gift."

The slave on the right wore a gag, Spock noticed. He was also the only one of the three who dared to make eye contact. “Why is that one gagged?” Spock asked the trader.

The security guard answered. “He bites.”

Spock considered his situation. He was uncomfortable with slaves. He’d never been good at giving orders, or following his father’s standards for how slaves should be treated. He was unsure how to proceed.

“Does anyone…um, volunteer?” Spock asked, hoping he didn’t sound too awkward. The slave on the right began blinking rapidly at Spock and shifting slightly on his knees. The other two kept very still, not looking up.

Spock stepped closer to the gagged slave. His hair was a loose curl over the top of his head. His eyes were brown, and almost wild-looking with emotion. He made a pleading expression.

“You volunteer?” Spock asked.

The slave nodded quickly, keeping his eyes locked on Spock.

“This one,” Spock said, pointing down at him.

“Your Highness, I must warn you that this one doesn’t come with a refund if you don’t like him,” the Orion trader said. “He’s been high maintenance. If you purchase him, the sale is final.”

“I understand,” Spock said, staring down at the slave.

T’Pring finalized the purchase. The slave was un-chained from his fellows, who were led back into the ship by the guard.

“Good luck with him,” the trader laughed. Then he boarded the ship, and it flew off into the sky.

“I will see you in several days, husband,” T’Pring said. “Contact me with an audio-only channel if you require me.” She turned and stalked back into the palace, leaving Spock alone on the balcony with the slave.

The slave stood up then, leaving smudges of green behind on the stone of the balcony, and bare patches of a pale pink on his knees.

“Paint,” Spock said, shaking his head. “You are not Orion?”

The slave shook his head fervently, and made a grunting sound behind the gag.

Spock winced in embarrassment. “I shall summon someone to remove your gag. I cannot do it myself at this time.” Touching the slave, even briefly to remove the gag, might initiate a bond.

The slave cocked his head sideways, like he was sizing Spock up. Spock marched briskly to the wall and summoned a maid. T’pi appeared from the shadows, like she’d been waiting for a call.

“Remove the slave’s gag,” Spock gestured vaguely.

“Is that wise, sir?” T’pi asked.

“Is it wise to question my orders?” Spock snapped at her. She shook her head no, and unfastened the slave’s gag. He worked his jaw a few times, feeling out his new relative freedom.

“Can I have the handcuffs off too?” the slave asked. His hands were bound behind his back, as they were when he’d arrived. T’pi looked at Spock for permission.

“Are you going to try and escape?” Spock asked, tiredly.

“With or without the cuffs, I _will_ escape,” the slave batted his eyelashes at Spock. “But as for right now, my arms are starting to hurt.”

“If you leave the property, you’ll be killed,” Spock sighed. He sat down heavily against the wall. The stone was soothingly warm against his back.

“Is that supposed to be a threat?” the slave glared at Spock defiantly.

“It was a statement of fact,” Spock said. “In this house, you are a gift from my wife. Outside of my property, you are an escaped non-Vulcan slave and a threat to T’Pring’s desire for secrecy about our new arrangement. You wouldn’t last long.”

“We’ll see about that,” the slave puffed out of his chest.

“Unbind his hands,” Spock sighed heavily and pulled his knees up to his chest. “You can go, T’pi.” She unlocked the slave’s cuffs and set them, and the gag, beside Spock, then slipped away into the shadows.

“You’re weird for a Vulcan,” the slave frowned, coming close to Spock. He put his hands on his hips. “What’s your deal?”

“I’m just tired,” Spock said. “I had a marriage bond severed less than ten minutes ago.”

“So you’re weak,” the slave crouched beside Spock and stared into his eyes. “I bet I could kill you before T’pi comes back.”

“You’re welcome to try,” Spock said.

The slave laughed. “I can’t even tell if you’re taking me seriously or not.”

“You’ll forgive me if this interaction ranks fairly low on my list of worries, today,” Spock replied.

“I’m Jim Kirk,” the slave held out his hand. “And you were right. I’m not Orion, I’m a human.”

“A what?” Spock frowned.

“A Terran, you guys call us Terrans,” Jim Kirk rolled his eyes. “Don’t Vulcans shake hands?”

“We do not,” Spock said stiffly.

“Will you at least tell me _your_ name?” Jim asked, sitting down across from Spock on the ground.

“I am…Spock,” Spock said. He wasn’t quite sure why he left off his title. It had been a long time since he’d spoken to anyone who didn’t already know who he was.

“Spock. Nice to meet you,” Jim smiled. “Can I use a shower or a bathtub or something? This stain itches like _crazy.”_

“Why did they…stain you?” Spock asked.

“Humans and Orions look pretty much the same, but human slaves are worthless,” Jim shrugged. “Apparently we’re all too angry and unpredictable. I got dyed green in the hopes that I’d sell.”

“What color are you really?” Spock asked.

“Um, can I use a bathtub or a shower or something, then?” Jim asked.

“T’pi will show you— _miran,_ ” Spock swore.

“What’s wrong?” Jim asked.

“Never mind. Word will get around soon enough that you’re Terran,” Spock shook his head. “There’s no point in concealing it. T’Pring will…” he shook his head again.

“Is that your wife?” Jim asked tentatively.

“She will be angered that I chose my gift poorly,” Spock said.

“I’ve got a great idea!” Jim snapped his fingers. “Give me a private room, say you’re keeping me for sex or whatever, nobody sees me, nobody ever finds out I’m not Orion!”

“It seems you are not content merely with relative freedom, you want to live like a Vulcan prince in a private room?” Spock scoffed.

“If I have to stay here until I can figure out how to escape, I may as well stay in style,” Jim crossed his arms. “And since you have no problem with the idea of me escaping, you don’t care about me at all, right? So why _not_ stick me somewhere and forget about me?”

“Why not stick you in a dungeon,” Spock grumbled.

“Because people will know I’m not Orion, and your wife will get mad at you, or whatever,” Jim rolled his eyes. “Obviously.”

Spock considered this. He’d hidden plenty of weaknesses, failures, and secrets over the years. What was the harm in one more? “Follow me,” he said. He stood and led Jim into the palace, deep within to his private mediation chambers, where servants were forbidden.

“Woah,” Jim stared wide-eyed at the room. It was a space designed to emulate a natural cave, with a few pools of water and a little waterfall spilling into them. “What is this place?”

“There is a bathroom there,” Spock pointed at a chamber leading off from the main room. “Do not leave this place. I will return later.”

“Hey, thanks for not, I don’t know, beating me up or something,” Jim smiled and clapped Spock on the back.

Spock wheezed at the familiarity of the contact. He didn’t respond, he just stepped out of the room and closed the door. For good measure, he locked it, trapping Jim on the other side. If he was going to keep this secret, he was going to have to commit.

He took deep breaths. He could still feel the human’s touch burning on his shoulder blade. He could feel his mind reaching out, trying to make contact. Spock was lucky. It seemed a bond hadn’t formed, even though his mind was still trying to make the connection. An hour of mediation should be sufficient to clear it out.

Unfortunately, the meditation room was now occupied. Spock groaned with frustration.

“Can I help you, sir?” T’Pi stepped into sight.

“Did you hear anything on the balcony?” Spock asked.

“No, sir,” T’Pi shook her head.

“Good,” Spock said. “I…” He didn’t have time to come up with a sufficient lie. He thought fast, and decided he’d prefer his household to know he was gay before they knew he was hiding an Orion slave who was clearly neither of those things. “I’m keeping the Orion slave for sex in my meditation room,” Spock lied. “Nobody opens this door, disturbs him, or sees him except for me.”

“Yes, sir,” T’Pi bowed her head. “Of course.”

“I’m going to bed,” Spock rubbed his temples to stave off a headache and walked back to his room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "miran" is supposed to be Vulcan for "hell"


	2. Chapter 2

Jim hadn’t expected it to go like this. He hadn’t expected _anything_ to go like this. Not long ago, he was facing death on Tarsus IV after General Kodos ordered the entire population of the colony killed. Jim killed a guard, stole a gun, and forced his way onto a shuttle before it left orbit. He knew he wanted to go home, to get back to Earth, but staying alive was more important than anything else, so once they took off, he handed over the gun and told the crew he’d do whatever they wanted if they let him live. As much as he wanted to live, he didn’t think he had the stomach to kill anyone in cold blood and take the shuttle.

The crew let Jim be a janitor, until a Klingon cruiser tried to attack the shuttle and Jim demonstrated a few martial arts abilities while repelling the boarders. Then Jim got to hang out on the bridge as a security officer. Earth was only a year or two away, and the shuttle would get there, slowly but surely.

The Orion pirates weren’t as easily defeated as the Klingons. They had some kind of nerve gas that they released into the corridors of the ship. Jim woke up on an Orion ship, alone. He kicked and fought against his captors, and they decided soon enough it would be easier to get rid of him than to keep him around. Jim spent an agonizingly long day worried they’d finally decided to kill him. Then the “captain” smiled evilly and offered Jim a gag and a jar of gross-smelling green stain.

Jim hadn’t come this far only to die now. He dyed his skin, he put on the slave uniform, and he wore the gag. The captain said it was only a precaution, so he wouldn’t give away he wasn’t really Orion before a sale. It was only then that Jim started to wonder how long it would be before he got sold.

They landed somewhere, and the planet was hot and dry. Jim could feel himself sweating through the stain as they left the shuttle and knelt in front of—Vulcans. Jim couldn’t tear his eyes away until the guard nailed him in the back of the head with his baton.

Vulcans. Did that mean they’d actually traveled to the Vulcan Territories? Even the Orions should have known to stay away from there. If you went in, you didn’t come back out. Maybe, months later, someone might find a piece of your ship, if the Vulcans left any trace of you at all. No one knew much about the Vulcan Territories, but everyone knew to stay out.

On the other hand, the Orions lived to land on the planet, didn’t they? So it wasn’t like this was an _immediate_ death sentence.

“Does anyone volunteer?” the male Vulcan stepped forward and examined them. Jim perked up. Staying here was better than staying with the Orions…maybe not by much, but at this point, anything would be an improvement.

Either Jim got lucky, or his masculine wiles hadn’t abandoned him yet. The Vulcan, Spock, picked Jim, sent the Orions away, and had a Vulcan servant remove Jim’s gag and collar. Spock was certainly beautiful to look at, but he looked tired, weak, and he basically said as much himself to Jim.

Jim wouldn’t have killed him. And there was no point in _running_ away, obviously Jim would need a space-capable vessel or he wouldn’t really be _escaping._ The Vulcan whisked Jim into a gorgeous underground cavern and disappeared, locking the door behind him. It made Jim chuckle when he heard the _click_ sound. He hadn’t yet met a door he hadn’t been able to make his way through, especially if he had his hands free, which he did.

Jim had always done his best not to make long term plans. The general idea was to return to Earth, but after he woke up with the Orions, he didn’t see much of an immediate future beyond, well, what the Orions would do to him. He shuddered, grateful to have escaped relatively unscathed.

He went to the bathroom and scrubbed at his skin, removing as much of the dye as he could. He’d have to get some more green paint in the future if he was going to keep pretending to be Orion, but the stain he had on burned and itched. He’d have to ask Spock for some safe-for-humans green paint, assuming there was any to be found here. Or maybe he could pretend he was an Orion with a skin defect, that might work. The green hair dye refused to come out, no matter how he scrubbed at it, so that story might actually work. And it would be a good explanation for why Jim didn’t come with a guaranteed refund.

Spock would be easy enough to manipulate. Clearly, he was a man of secrets, and Jim’s very existence was a secret big enough to use as leverage. It wasn’t that Jim _wanted_ to manipulate the Vulcan, it was just that Jim didn’t have a lot of other choices. He had to find out if he was actually in the Vulcan Territories or not, he had to find where the spaceships were kept, he had a lot of things he needed to learn before he’d be able to escape, and since Spock had decided Jim wasn’t leaving this room, it meant Jim was going to need to pump Spock for the information he needed.

Jim’s stomach growled as he explored the cavern. He was starting to get hungry, and it didn’t look like there was anything edible stored in here. The walls looked natural at first, but Jim started to realize he was in a man-made space. Everything was a little too symmetrical, radiating from a central point on the floor where there was a circular pattern carved into the stone. And the waterfall turned out to be a pipe, which Jim could stop up with his fingers and feel around inside. If it was a natural fall, Jim could have tried to break open the rock and follow it outside to freedom. As it was a pipe, Jim was pretty much stuck here. The only exit was the door Spock had used.

Jim cracked his knuckles. A locked door was just the entertainment, graciously provided by the host for Jim’s amusement to pass the time. He set to work on the locking mechanism.


	3. Chapter 3

Spock dreamed of a chess board and rolling green grassy fields. He woke up and discovered that his headache hadn’t gone away. If anything, it had gotten worse. He groaned and sat up. There was a pitcher of water waiting for him next to his bed. He drank half of it in one go.

He was starving. Jim was probably hungry too, he realized. There was extra plomeek soup in the kitchens left over from breakfast. Spock grabbed a container of it, and two bowls. Now that he’d had time to rest, he realized that the most important, immediate issue was to figure out a better story to tell the staff than “I’m keeping the Orion sex slave in my mediation chambers.” And Jim would need to know that story, or they’d both get caught in the lie. If that happened, Spock would have to have an uncomfortable conversation with T’Pring, and potentially shame from his father. Jim would probably be killed. There was no logic in keeping a slave that doesn’t fulfill his function, and Sarek would never let a non-Vulcan leave the Vulcan territories after what Jim had seen. A private room in Spock’s own meditation chambers? What had Spock been thinking?

He opened the door and Jim jumped away from it like he’d been burned. So Jim had been picking the lock, it seemed.

“I brought food,” Spock said. He set the bowls and soup container down on a small table.

“Sweet! I’m starving,” Jim said, rubbing his hands together.

He’d cleaned off most of the green, Spock noticed. There were still patches of it around his eyes and nose, the tips of his fingers—Spock tried to look away from Jim’s fingers. They looked warm, and maybe soft to the touch…it really wouldn’t do to think about it. Jim’s hair was still a brilliant green. It made the brown in his eyes look beautiful.

“What is this?” Jim chewed awkwardly and spoke with his mouth full.

“Plomeek soup,” Spock said.

“It’s kind of…bland?” Jim said.

Spock wasn’t sure how to respond to that. “You don’t act like a slave.”

“That’s because I’m _not_ a slave,” Jim said, glaring up at Spock. “Even if you locked me in here, even if you think you _bought_ me, I’m a person. I don’t _belong_ to you, I don’t belong to anybody.”

“My apologies,” Spock said. “I merely meant…you are…” Spock struggled with the words. “Angry?” That wasn’t quite right, but it made Jim laugh, which made Spock feel a fluttery sensation in his stomach. Probably hunger. Spock hunched over his bowl and continued to eat.

“Sure I’m angry,” Jim said. “Wouldn’t you be?”

“Vulcans do not express emotions in that way,” Spock said.

“Yeah, but you still feel them, right? Everyone feels emotions,” Jim shrugged.

“You wouldn’t last long outside of this place,” Spock shook his head. “No Vulcan would tolerate you.”

“You tolerate me just fine,” Jim winked.

“I am not fully Vulcan,” Spock said. He wasn’t sure why he said it, but it did feel nice to get it out in the open. “My mother…is human.”

“What? No way!” Jim looked up excitedly. “So am I! Can I meet her?”

“No,” Spock said firmly, but a little bit too quickly. Jim looked hurt, and Spock tried to regain his composure. “You cannot even speak to members of my staff, much less my wife or my mother, until we have a good explanation for your presence and appearance.”

“I was thinking about that,” Jim said. He’d already finished his first bowl of soup, and was scooping more out of the container. “We can say I’m Orion, but I’ve got a skin defect, and that’s why there was no refund guarantee for me. That way, boom, I’m still an Orion slave, and nobody can prove otherwise.”

Jim’s skin was, by no meaning of the word, defective. He had a pinkish tone to all of him, like he was full of desert sand instead of blood. Spock knew humans had red blood, due to the presence of iron in their cells. He’d never really seen it visualized like this before. Jim was still wearing the scraps of clothing that he’d arrived in, and they didn’t leave much to the imagination. Spock coughed awkwardly and refocused on the conversation.

“This room is soundproof, so it will be convenient to pretend we’re having sex down here,” Spock said.

“We’re…pretending to have sex?” Jim raised an eyebrow, looking just like a little Vulcan. It almost made Spock smile. Almost.

“I told T’Pi I was keeping you down here for that purpose, so, yes. We will continue the charade,” Spock said. “I will spend a minimum of three point five hours here daily, and shower immediately before leaving, to further maintain the illusion.”

“We could pretend I’m a household slave and you could let me actually leave this room,” Jim suggested.

“That will not be possible,” Spock grimaced. “My wife…purchased you…specifically to provide for my biological needs.”

“For sex,” Jim frowned. “Okay. She couldn’t keep up with you, or—”

“Please do not speak like that,” Spock cut him off. “Do not be alarmed. I will have no such biological needs for the next seven years. I won’t touch you.”

“Huh,” Jim frowned. “Um, okay.”

Spock was expecting Jim to ask why T’Pring had purchased a male slave for Spock’s sexual needs. Jim didn’t ask. Spock didn’t know if that made him feel more or less ashamed than before. Jim was an Orion slave (technically speaking, in that he was enslaved by the Orions) and he’d probably seen his fair share of men who weren’t attracted to women. Maybe, outside the Vulcan Territories, it wasn’t even a big deal.

Spock ate the last of his soup and set the bowl aside. There was a long silence between the two of them.

“So…what now?” Jim asked.

“I will stay here for the next three point five hours,” Spock frowned. Hadn’t he already explained this?

“No, I mean, do we…do something?” Jim asked.

“Are you suggesting we _actually_ have sex?” Spock shifted slightly away.

“No, I mean…” Jim blushed a bright red color. It was fascinating to observe. Spock could hardly tear his eyes away as Jim kept talking. “We could, I don’t know, get to know each other? Play a game or something? Do Vulcans play chess?”

Spock blinked, processing this. He'd dreamed of a chess board.

“I don’t know, I thought it would be more fun than sitting here in silence,” Jim huffed, crossing his arms.

“I _was_ going to meditate. I suppose we could play chess,” Spock said. “There is a board behind that wall.” He pointed, and Jim retrieved the set. He put together the boards, one on top of the other, and arranged the pieces for a 3D chess game.

“Where did you learn to play chess?” Spock asked.

“Where did _you?_ ” Jim asked.

“There is no need for such aggression in your response,” Spock said.

“Isn’t there? Just because you own me doesn’t mean I have to tell you about my past,” Jim scowled.

“My apologies,” Spock said, for the second time. This was not how having a slave was supposed to work, he was sure of it. “I did not mean to imply you are being forced to answer my questions.”

“No, you were fine,” Jim sighed. “I’m just…on edge. I was honestly expecting to be tied to a bed or something right now. You’re not what I was expecting.”

“Nor are you what I was expecting,” Spock raised an eyebrow. “I propose an idea. You will answer one of my questions, then I will answer one of yours.”

“Hmm,” Jim put his hand on his chin, sizing Spock up. “Only if we agree now that if I don’t like the question, I don’t have to answer.”

“I doubt I could force you to respond if you did not wish to,” Spock said. “Unless I were to tie you to the bed.”

“Um…” Jim just looked at Spock.

“That was an attempt at humor,” Spock said, looking away.

“Needs work. Maybe I’ll try and teach you before I escape,” Jim said. He sat back down at the table and moved one of the white chess pieces, making the first move.

“Where will you escape to?” Spock asked. He moved a black piece in response.

“Earth,” Jim said. When he said it, his eyes got a faraway look in them, like he was actually seeing it in front of him. “Where are we now?” As he spoke, he moved his next piece. Spock maintained the rhythm. Answer, question, move a chess piece.

“We’re in the Shi'kahr palace, near Vulcan’s Forge,” Spock said.

“You didn’t answer right,” Jim pouted. “You know I was asking what star system we’re in.”

“You didn’t ask your question clearly enough,” Spock said. He considered the board. He’d have Jim in check in four moves. “How did you end up with the Orions?”

“I was on a ship that was captured by Orions,” Jim said primly, refusing to elaborate. “What star system are we in?”

“You are on the planet Vulcan, homeworld of the Vulcan territories,” Spock said. Jim visibly shuddered. “How old are you?” Spock asked.

“I’m 32. Am I going to die?” Jim asked bluntly.

It took Spock a while to figure out how to formulate an answer to that. “Everyone dies eventually.”

“Spock,” Jim shook his head. He gave Spock a serious, intense look. “Please.”

“There are many humans living on Vulcan today,” Spock said. “Most of them are servants of some kind of another.”

“But if I try to leave the Vulcan territories, I’ll definitely be killed,” Jim frowned.

“It is likely,” Spock said, even though continuing to answer was not required by the rules of their game. “I have many secrets that could negatively affect my father if they were to come to light. Unfortunately, you are one of them. If my protection of you falters even momentarily, it will likely mean your death.” Spock moved a game piece. “Check,” he said guiltily.

Jim moved his king out of the way haphazardly, like he wasn’t even looking at the board. Yet he was the one who suggested the game. “Is there any chance I get to make it home alive?”

“I am honestly not sure,” Spock said. He moved a piece into place, continuing the trap he’d set for Jim’s king. “The probability does not seem high. Check.”

Jim moved his king again. “Okay. You let me ask a bunch of questions in a row. You ask _me_ something now.”

“Have you always been this bad at chess?” Spock asked.

“I’m considered pretty good by my friends,” Jim smiled wryly. “Go on, ask another.”

“Will you kill me when you escape?” Spock asked.

Jim froze, hand touching a piece. “Are you asking me if I plan to, or are you asking me to do it?”

“The first one,” Spock said.

“Not if I don’t have to,” Jim said. He moved his queen. “Checkmate.”

“Impossible,” Spock said. He studied the board. Jim had completely blindsided him, pretending to fall for the trap when he’d really been arranging Spock’s pieces at his own will. “I am impressed.”

“I mean it,” Jim said awkwardly. He took the pieces off the board and began setting up another game. “I dont _want_ to kill you. You seem nice. I might even want to stay if you weren’t, you know, keeping me as a slave.”

“This treatment can hardly be considered cruel or unusual,” Spock said.

“It’s about the principle of the thing,” Jim said. “You wouldn’t understand.” He considered his first move carefully, then moved his knight. “How old are you?”

“I’m 35,” Spock said.

“I thought Vulcans were supposed to be really old,” Jim said.

“Vulcans can live over 200 years long,” Spock said. “I am still young. I only just had my first…” Spock cut himself off. He’d almost explained to a _human_ that he’d only had his first pon farr days ago.

“Guess I just got lucky then,” Jim said.

“What’s Earth like?” Spock asked, desperately trying to change the subject.

“Earth is beautiful,” Jim said wistfully, staring down at the board. “There’s places that are deserts like here, but I’m from Iowa…there’s a lot more green. And a lot more water. When you look down from space, Earth looks blue.”

The image of rolling grassy fields floated through Spock’s mind again. He was able to recognize it now as originating from Jim. Even in their brief moment of physical contact, they’d bonded. Spock must have been weaker than he'd realized after the healing and severance of the marriage bond. He’d have to mediate to purge Jim from his mind before sleeping again.

“What are you thinking about?” Jim asked.

“I am regretting that you hit me on the shoulder earlier,” Spock said.

“Hm? Oh, sorry. I didn’t realize. I didn’t mean anything by it,” Jim creased his forehead. “Did I hurt you?” He reached out a hand towards Spock.

“No, you didn’t hurt me,” Spock recoiled away. “Just…do not touch me.”

“I’m…sorry,” Jim said. He looked confused and sad as he pulled his hand away. “I didn’t mean anything, I swear.”

“It is fine,” Spock said. It was not a lie, because he _would_ be fine once he found the free time to meditate and purge the bond. However, he did not meditate during the remaining time of the three point five hours. He and Jim continued to play chess. Jim was an impressive player, following the logical rules of the game one moment and subverting them the next. Spock had to concentrate his whole focus just to maintain a stalemate with him.

“So…even though I’m your skin-defect Orion slave, I still have to stay here,” Jim said when Spock gathered up the soup bowls in preparation to leave.

“It is easier this way, at least for now,” Spock said. “You bear no physical injuries that would suggest we had sex.”

“Injuries?” Jim asked.

“You are a human,” Spock explained. “My physical strength far surpasses yours.”

“Aww, you wouldn’t be gentle with me?” Jim pouted and fluttered his eyelashes.

“I must go,” Spock said stiffly, trying to maintain control of his emotions. “I will return later.” He swept out of the room and locked the door behind him, leaving Jim alone in the meditation chambers. Maybe he’d like a book or something? Spock would figure it out later. He returned the bowls to the kitchen and then went out to the balcony to meditate.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the same images of the rolling grassy hillsides. This was going to take more work than he’d thought.


	4. Chapter 4

“Not that kicking your ass at chess isn’t fun, but we need to talk,” Jim said.

“I am unsure what you think we’ve been doing for the past week,” Spock raised an eyebrow.

“No, I mean…about this,” Jim said, gesturing at the confines of the meditation chamber. “A serious talk. Put down the castle, Spock.”

Spock complied, setting his castle back in its original place. “I am not sure what we have to discuss. I do not foresee a change in our situation in the near future.”

“That’s the point!” Jim said. “Okay, let’s say I accept that I have to stay here and pretend to be your slave. And let’s say, somehow I fail to escape, and you have me for the rest of my natural life. Let’s say the next 50 years, as a low estimate.”

Spock flushed green at the thought. “You have made it clear I do not ‘have’ you. I do not _wish_ to have you—”

“Obviously we’re not having sex, I just mean having me _here,”_ Jim did another grand, sweeping gesture. “What’s your long term plan? Am I really stuck in this meditation room for the next 50 years?”

“I…had not considered that,” Spock said. If they were being fair, Spock didn’t expect to live another 50 years. There were always assassins ready to take down the heir to the Vulcan Territories throne, not to mention Spock’s own father might have him assassinated at some point to protect one family secret or another. Perhaps Spock should make a note, willing Jim to someone who would take care of him…Amanda, maybe? But that would put Jim too close to Sarek, potentially in harm’s way.

“Logically speaking, you can’t,” Jim said. “It’s weird to keep me here. Don’t you worry your servants are going to start wondering what kind of leverage I’ve got that makes me worth a private room? If nobody else gets this treatment, it’s suspicious for me to be the only one.”

“You raise a compelling point,” Spock frowned.

“Plus, don’t you want me out of here?” Jim said. “This is clearly your space. Why pick another spot to meditate when you’ve already got this one?”

“What do you suggest?” Spock crossed his arms.

“Give me free reign of the house,” Jim said.

“I cannot do that, because you will try to escape, and you will die,” Spock said.

“Give me partial reign of the house,” Jim said.

“How partial?” Spock raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t know. Half of it? A couple floors or two? At least give me access to the kitchen, so I can cook something better than _plomeek soup,”_ Jim grimaced and stuck out his tongue. “I’m not a _bad_ cook. How do you feel about Italian food?”

“How do you propose I prevent you from trying to escape and dying?” Spock asked.

“ _Help_ me escape,” Jim said, “because if you don’t, I’m never going to stop trying.”

“Jim. The probability of your success is so low it is negligent. Even if you did succeed, you’d be hunted for the rest of your life,” Spock said. “I will not knowingly put you in harm’s way.”

“Okay then, you’re the fucking slave master,” Jim glared. “ _You_ tell me how you’d stop me from escaping.”

“I…could impose a force field barrier around a few of the palace rooms,” Spock considered carefully. “But a mere barrier to prevent your escape does not address my main concern with giving you wider access to the house.”

“What’s the problem, then?” Jim asked.

“The…everything about you.” It was Spock’s turn to gesture now, at Jim’s appearance. The green hair dye was still firmly stuck to his scalp. He wore an oversized shirt that belonged to Spock. The sleeves went down over his hands unless he rolled them up. He was a pretty picture, but it wasn't a picture Spock needed anyone else to see.

“Aww, nothing’s _that_ wrong with me,” Jim pouted.

“To begin with, you don’t _act_ like an Orion slave,” Spock said. “Any of my staff would see through the ruse immediately.”

“No way! I’m a great actor,” Jim said. He suddenly pulled into himself, let the sleeves roll down over his hands, tucked his knees underneath him, and bowed his head. He slowly looked up at Spock, batting his eyelashes. “Master—”

“Stop,” Spock sighed.

“Okay, that was a _great_ impression of an Orion slave,” Jim frowned. “What’s your problem?”

“Don’t…you can’t…” Spock was getting flustered. “You look like—”

“I’m _supposed_ to be a sex slave, aren’t I?” Jim rolled his eyes.

“Whatever you were doing, do less of it,” Spock said.

“How’s this?” Jim asked. He stood up, and held his spine strictly upright at attention. He folded his hands behind his back and stared firmly into the distance. “Your Highness, it is my solemn duty to—”

“What are you, a soldier?” Spock crinkled his forehead.

“I used to be a lot of things,” Jim said quietly. He dropped the pose and sat back down. “Now I’m just…your Orion sex slave, I guess.”

“I didn’t ask my wife to buy me a slave.” Spock felt the need to justify himself. “I didn’t force you to volunteer to stay.”

“I 'volunteered' because being here was the _only_ choice!” Jim was angry. Spock could feel it pulsing through their bond. “I couldn’t stay with the Orions. They wouldn’t have killed me…it would have been worse.”

Their link cracked with electricity, and Spock received a few disturbing images from Jim. Jim had seen slaves missing limbs for their masters’ entertainment. He’d seen slaves with their jaws wired shut. Jim had been sure that future was inevitable for him if he’d stayed any longer. Spock let out a shuddery breath, trying to block it out, trying to focus.

“Are you okay?” Jim was suddenly close to Spock, not touching him, but looking at him with concern. Jim didn’t know about the bond. Spock knew humans weren’t even mildly telepathic. It wasn’t like Jim was trying to force his thoughts on Spock, it was just that Spock wasn’t strong enough to block them out or cut off the bond. Not for lacking of trying, Spock reflected with a twinge of anger.

“I am fine,” Spock said. “…You are right. I am sorry for the circumstances that led you here.”

“Well…thanks,” Jim said, settling back down across from Spock.

“I will have my staff begin to erect forcefields to allow you greater access to the palace,” Spock said. “I will also procure more appropriate clothes for you. Assuming you can develop a convincing persona.”

“I will be honored by whatever you provide for me, my lord,” Jim said in a soft voice. Spock almost jumped at the shift in tone. Jim sat with his hands palms-up on his knees, eyes soft and just slightly unfocused. Spock couldn’t help looking down at his hands. So open and vulnerable, like Jim really _was_ offering himself up for sex.

“Hah! Got you!” Jim laughed and the spell was broken. “Told you I could do it. How was that?”

“Adequate,” Spock said. His mouth felt dry all of a sudden. “Can you maintain that facade whenever you are outside of this room?”

“Sure I can,” Jim shrugged.

“I am being serious,” Spock almost growled. “There are eyes and ears everywhere. Even my own staff is a risk. Many of them prefer T’Pring to myself, and would reveal anything they know in hopes of gaining her favor.”

“Message delivered. I’m sure I can keep it up,” Jim said. “Trust me. You’re the one who gets to live if we don’t pull this off… but don’t worry. I can do it.”

“In that case, I suppose I can give you a proper tour of the palace tomorrow,” Spock said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jim loves Italian food, and so do you:
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7VovdqcBmS4


	5. Chapter 5

“To be honest, I was expecting you to oppose this,” Spock said.

“Well, it’s not _very_ comfortable,” Jim frowned. He gave a little twirl. “But it’ll do.” He was wearing a loose, silvery garment with tasteful rips cutting the shirt into pieces. “Did I put my arm through the right strap?”

“It will not matter which arm goes where if you choose to remain in this room,” Spock said. “I do not care what my household will say about my preferential treatment of you. You do not have to subject yourself to this.”

“I’m getting out of this room, with or without you,” Jim said. “I’d rather it be _with_ you, because that’s less likely to get me killed. This outfit isn’t just a skimpy slave costume, it’s battle armor, because, again, wearing it makes me less likely to get killed.”

“It’s not demeaning?” Spock asked.

“Of course it’s demeaning. That’s the point,” Jim said. He snapped the golden cuffs around his wrists, but didn’t fasten them to each other. “And it _will_ get more demeaning. The more I _look_ like a slave, the less likely I am to get killed.” He put on the golden collar, completing the outfit. The collar was attached to a long, thin chain. “Hold this?” Jim held the end of it towards Spock.

Spock accepted it dutifully.

“There,” Jim said. He put his hands on his hips and assessed himself. “I’m ready.”

“If you’re certain,” Spock said. He held the chain out for Jim to take back.

“Spock,” Jim sighed. “Please tell me you’re not trying to hand me the end of my own leash.”

Spock dropped the chain like it had burned him. “Your _what?”_

“If people find out about this, all I’m saying is, it’s not going to be _my_ fault,” Jim hissed. “What did you _think_ it was?”

“I assumed it had a decorative purpose,” Spock said. He could feel his face starting to heat up with embarrassment, even though logically, it should have been Jim rather than Spock who was upset by this.

Jim picked up the end of the chain and held it out again. “Spock. You just have to hold it until we get to wherever we’re going, then you can let it go. It’s not a big deal.”

Spock let his mind intentionally brush up against Jim’s. Jim wasn’t feeling anything particularly strongly. He seemed fine with the concept of Spock dragging him around by a leash, at least in pretense. The chain was silvery and thin, and Jim was asking Spock to hold the end. Spock couldn’t help but compare it to the telepathic bond between the two of them, only Jim knew about the chain and he _didn’t_ know about the bond. If he did, he’d surely be angry with Spock for allowing it to continue without Jim’s consent, even thought Spock had desperately tried to break it every day since Jim had arrived. That connection was much stronger than this flimsy, physical chain, but the chain carried with it a certain power dynamic that the bond did not. Spock didn’t think it was logical that the one who lost four chess games in a row got to be the one holding the leash. It didn’t seem fair, on some kind of cosmic level.

“Spock,” Jim growled. “Don’t argue about it, just hold the end of the chain.”

Spock complied. He clenched his fist tightly around it, feeling the links dig into his palm. It was grounding.

“Well, that’s better, at least,” Jim said. He shook his head. “You were worried about how _I_ was going to act? _You’re_ the one who’s going to get me caught.”

“What do you mean?” Spock asked.

“You’re going to act like we’re friends, and _that’s_ going to make people suspicious,” Jim said. “Vulcans are supposed to be, I don’t know, colder? Less friendly?”

Spock straightened upright and composed his face as strictly as he could manage. “A slave shouldn’t presume to tell his master how to behave,” he said coldly. “I will be as familiar with my property as I choose.”

Jim shivered. “Woah. You got me…that _was_ convincing. Where did that come from?”

“I have spent every moment of my life pretending to be the son that my father wanted,” Spock said. “I have had a significant amount of practice.” He felt Jim's emotions rise for a moment like the tide, a wave of panic as Jim imagined what kind of slave master he might have ended up with, but Jim slowly calmed back to baseline. Spock let out a sigh of relief that he hadn't scared him too badly.

“Well, it's your house,” Jim said. “I guess you know best how to act. But—never mind,” Jim bit his lip, like he had to physically hold back what he wanted to say.

Spock felt Jim’s background worry that this was his life now. Jim’s whole body was tense and stiff, like he’d finally realized the collar was choking him, and he needed it off immediately. Spock sent back a pulse of reassurance before he even realized what he was doing.

“Following the pretense that I need you to fulfill my biological needs, your new room will also be soundproof, just like this one,” Spock said. “We will still need to engage in secluded activities for long periods of time to maintain that illusion. There is a chess board in your new room already. We only have to maintain this illusion in common areas of the house."

“Oh,” Jim said, relaxing just slightly. “Right. Of course. Wait! You said it would be suspicious if I didn’t have any sexual injuries!”

“Perhaps I was gentle with you,” Spock deadpanned, flexing his hand around the chain he still held.

“I could slam my head into a wall?” Jim looked around for a suitable target.

“Please don’t,” Spock said.

“I should have planned on this yesterday, it’s too late for me to bruise now,” Jim frowned, squeezing his arm so hard Spock could see it turning white between his fingers.

“Stop it,” Spock said, accidentally pulling slightly on the chain. Jim stumbled forward a step or two, and looked up at Spock with confusion. “You’re hurting yourself,” Spock said awkwardly. It took every ounce of will power he had to keep holding onto the chain, instead of dropping it and fleeing across the room like he wanted to.

“I was thinking I needed to—” Jim started, but Spock cut him off.

“Perhaps you could fake an injury instead? Can you limp?” Spock asked.

“Oh! Sure, I can give it a try,” Jim said. “Like you destroyed my assh—”

“Please stop talking,” Spock said, squeezing his eyes shut.

“It’s a good thing you didn’t end up with a real sex slave,” Jim laughed. “You might have died, or fainted or something. ‘Oooh, look at me, I’m sensitive,’” Jim teased.

“It is to _your_ benefit that I am, as you say, ‘sensitive,” Spock said. “Shall we go?”

“It’s about time you got your mediation rooms back,” Jim smiled. He folded his hands in front of him and stood in a loose stance. “I am ready, my lord.”

****************************************

Spock held tight to the chain as he led Jim through the halls. Spock tried to see it as a tether, reminding both of them they were committed to this deception together... as opposed to a leash, which it obviously, inescapably was. He didn’t know how Jim felt about it, as normally-chatty Jim clammed up as soon as they left the meditation chamber.

Spock didn’t look back at Jim as they walked. It would be beneath the Crown Prince to do so. But he did walk more slowly than usual, worried Jim would have trouble keeping up.

The ShiKahr Palace had been his home for the past several years, ever since Spock had completed his education. Sarek hadn’t asked Spock to move out, but he hadn’t protested when Spock had packed his things.

The ShiKahr Palace wasn’t the biggest or even the most beautiful of Sarek’s palaces, but Jim stared at it like he’d never seen luxury like it before. Spock suppressed a pang of guilt as he led Jim to the upper levels of the palace, past huge open windows looking out over the desert vistas, past columns and stone art stretching up to the high ceilings… Jim limped dutifully past it all.

T’Pi stepped out of the shadows and kept pace beside Spock. “Moving him today, sir?”

“Yes,” Spock said tightly.

“The forcefields are in place where you requested,” T’Pi said.

“Thank you,” Spock said.

“If I may, sir…his skin color?” T’Pi raised an eyebrow.

“There was no refund offered on this one due to his rare Orion skin defect,” Spock said.

“Ah,” T’Pi nodded. “Do you still want him, then, or—”

“He is adequate for the purposes I require,” Spock said quickly. He hoped it wasn't _too_ quickly.

“Of course, sir,” T’Pi said. The little group arrived at the edge of the forcefield. T’Pi typed a code into a pattern on the wall, and it flickered out of existence. Spock led Jim through it, and it reactivated behind them.

“These are your new quarters,” Spock said stiffly, all too aware of T’Pi’s presence watching them. “There is a kitchen, a larger common space, a balcony, and a bedroom.”

Jim looked around, never stepping far enough away for the chain to pull on his collar. “You are generous, my lord,” he said, head bowed.

Spock just stood there for a few moments, not sure what to do. He gripped the end of the chain tightly, and it dug into his palm, but he couldn’t make himself release it.

“Perhaps…you could show me to the bedroom, my lord?” Jim said, biting his lip, obviously trying to give Spock a cue.

“Yes, of course…yes,” Spock was relieved to hear Jim's suggestion, and he tried to cover it up with a grunt in a deeper tone. “This way.” He yanked on the chain for good measure as he led Jim into the bedroom.

“Sir, if I may have a moment of your time,” T’Pi asked.

“Um, yes,” Spock said. He all but shoved Jim into the safety of the bedroom and closed the door behind him, while Spock stood outside with T’Pi.

“I understand that your new slave serves a purpose Her Highness T’Pring was unable to fulfill for you,” T’Pring said.

“That is correct,” Spock said, swallowing nervously. “This, like all of my private matters, must be kept with the quietest discretion.”

“I understand, sir,” T’Pi said. “Do you want me to give him the rules of the house?”

“Later,” Spock said. “I must…” He felt awkwardly at the door handle behind him. He didn’t know how to finish the sentence, but T’Pi made her own assumptions, and seemed satisfied.

“I shall return later,” T’Pi said.

Spock threw himself behind the bedroom door, slammed it shut, and stood leaning against it, breathing deeply. “We have done it. This was the hardest part, I believe. Any further deception should be relatively simple.”

Jim was struggling to take off the collar. “A little help?”

“You can’t remove it yourself?” Spock asked.

“What would be the point of it if I could?” Jim glared. “Come on, help me out.”

Spock took a tentative step closer and began examining the clasps of the mechanism. Jim raised his hands to help and Spock pulled away.

“It’s right here, just let me show you!” Jim said.

“Hold still,” Spock said. “We must not make physical contact.”

“Ugh. I already told you, I’ve had all my shots,” Jim rolled his eyes. “What’s your problem? You’re supposed to be violently using me every day, and you can’t even touch me for a _second?_ ”

“That is correct,” Spock said tightly. “So hold still, and I will attempt to remove the collar.”

“You’re either…I don’t know _what_ you are,” Jim huffed. “Calling you a prude isn’t even enough to cover it.” But he held still, and Spock began working on the collar’s lock.

“I am a touch telepath,” Spock said. “As all Vulcans are. Is this not common knowledge?”

“A what?” Jim turned his head slightly and his neck almost brushed against Spock’s fingers. Spock shuddered and continued working.

“A touch telepath. Any physical contact could be enough to transfer surface emotions or thoughts,” Spock said.

“Oh,” Jim said, stiffening up. “I didn’t know. I’ll stay still.”

Spock fiddled with the lock and finally got it to pop open.

“What does it feel like?” Jim asked, curious. He pulled off the collar and set it aside. Spock folded his hands and stepped away, giving him a wide berth.

“Telepathy?” Spock asked.

“Yeah,” Jim said.

“I don’t know how to describe it. I have always possessed it to some degree,” Spock said. “I would say it is…overwhelming, at times, to sense another in one’s own mind. At any depth, it can be disconcerting, even relatively shallow bonds.”

“I was almost worried you hated me or something,” Jim said, chuckling awkwardly to cover up what Spock could tell was a genuine expression of emotion. “You act like I’m diseased.”

“You act like you’ve never lived around Vulcans before,” Spock sniffed.

“I haven’t,” Jim said. “And…I don’t know. I’ve always been kind of a touchy person.” He rubbed his shoulders with both hands. “It’s kind of weird going without it.”

“What do you mean?” Spock asked.

“Never mind,” Jim sighed, and dropped his hands. “Once I escape, it won’t be a problem anymore.”

“Be careful not to talk like that in front of T’Pi,” Spock said. “She will return later to brief you about the rest of the household staff.”

“I figured as much,” Jim said, stretching. “Is she cool? How much ‘my lord, my only desire is to serve you’ do I need to pour on?”

“Please clarify what you mean by ‘cool,” Spock said.

“Like, can I, I don’t know, talk to her like a person?” Jim asked.

“I suppose you should use your own discretion,” Spock said. “She does not talk to me ‘like a person,’ as you said. She cannot, by any code of formality. Perhaps she is different when I’m not around.”

“I’ll give it a shot,” Jim shrugged. “But we’ve got a chess game between now and then, don’t we?”

“Yes,” Spock sighed. "It was the quickest way to guarantee solitude."

“The amount of chess we play…thank god you’re not _actually_ that horny, or I wouldn’t be able to keep up,” Jim laughed.

Spock chose not to respond to that. He began setting up the board. “As you saw, you now have access to a kitchen, as per your request. The living area will allow you to access books or holos at your discretion. I have read that humans require sunlight as an essential source of ‘vitamin D,’ so you now have access to a balcony.”

“Somehow, this doesn’t feel like you’re spoiling me _less,”_ Jim said. “This room _alone_ is bigger than anywhere I’ve ever lived.”

“This is a standard servant’s quarters in the palace,” Spock said. “I assure you, you are getting no visible special treatment.” There was a pause, as Jim studied the chess board and Spock thought. “Jim, if the palace is truly such a better environment in comparison to your previous dwellings, why are you still so set on escaping?”

“I told you, Spock, it’s the principle of the thing,” Jim said.

“If it is merely the greenery and water of Earth you miss, surely a virtual simulation could be prepared here,” Spock said. "Or even live plants."

“I actually don’t want to talk about this,” Jim said. “And you wouldn’t understand, anyway. I—”

Jim was interrupted by a soft chiming sound. Spock pulled aside his robe to reveal a small communicator.

“Have you had that the whole time?” Jim frowned.

“Quiet,” Spock said. He tapped the device. “Spock here.”

“Sir, I hate to interrupt, but you asked to be given as much warning as possible,” T’Pi said. “Your mother is on a shuttle on route to the palace. She will be here within the hour.”

“Understood,” Spock said. He tapped the communicator again, turning it off. He stood, and walked to the bed.

“Have you had a communicator this whole time? Can I see it?” Jim asked.

Spock picked up a pillow and squeezed it between his hands until it popped, surprising both of them. “…My apologies. I will ask T’Pi to bring you a replacement,” Spock said. He dropped the remains of the pillow on the bed. “I have to go.”

“Your mom is coming?” Jim said. “You said she was human! Can I meet her?”

“No,” Spock said.

“But—”

“No,” Spock said firmly. “I will return later.” He left the bedroom, headed for his own rooms. He needed to change his clothes into something more formal, first of all. And he’d need to meditate, or Amanda would know as soon as she landed that something was wrong. She’d always claimed to detect emotion on Spock’s face, no matter how he tried to suppress it. Spock hadn’t expected to see her for a little while, and he didn’t have much warning to prepare for her. Jim pulsed some image or other through the bond, but Spock pushed it out of his mind as he marched down the hall. There was no time for distractions.


	6. Chapter 6

Amanda’s shuttle arrived, and landed in the hangar attached to the southern end of the palace. Spock watched its thrusters settle down into place, and realized that this was exactly where Jim wanted to be. Well, Jim wanted to be on Earth, but this hangar was his more immediate goal. Steal one of Spock’s ships and make a run for it. Spock wondered which one Jim would try to take. He’d have more luck getting past security blockades with one of Spock’s personal vessels, but more speed with one of the transport ships.

Amanda stepped out into the open and Spock pushed Jim out of his mind as harshly as he could. “Mother,” Spock stepped forward and held up his hand in proper form. “Live long and prosper.”

“Spock, my son,” she smiled. Amanda came forward and rubbed one hand briefly against his cheek. As always, he could feel her emotions pulsing along the point of contact. Relief at seeing him, love for him…her hand was warm. Humans tended to be warmer to the touch than Vulcans. Spock wondered if Jim was warm, too. He pulled away from Amanda, careful not to let her sense his thoughts.

“I was not expecting you,” Spock said. “Is something wrong?”

“How are you feeling?” Amanda asked. She let her emotions wash freely over her face. She was worried for him.

“I am fine,” Spock said, confused. “What do you—”

“You bonded with T’Pring less than two weeks ago,” Amanda said, brow crinkled. “I wanted to make sure you were all right.”

“There were no difficulties forming the bond with T’Pring,” Spock said. Technically not a lie. There _were_ no difficulties _forming_ the bond…it was maintaining the bond that had proved impossible.

“Is she nice?” Amanda asked. “I can see it in the way you move…you can feel her mind now?”

“I…yes,” Spock said. This was a lie, there was no way around it.

“You walk more confidently, you stand taller…I am proud of you, my son,” Amanda smiled. “What does it feel like?”

“Mother, surely you can connect to your own marriage bond if you desire to understand what it feels like,” Spock said.

“I know what my bond with your father is like,” Amanda shook her head. “I was asking how _yours_ is.”

The rolling, grassy fields of Jim’s memory appeared in Spock’s mind again. “It is pleasant,” Spock said, surprising himself with his answer.

“I’m glad. T’Pring always seemed so cold and calculating,” Amanda said, feigning a shudder.

“We are Vulcans, Mother,” Spock said.

“She always seemed different to me,” Amanda frowned. “I didn’t think she really cared for you.”

“I do not believe mutual affection is the purpose for which arranged marriages are made,” Spock said.

“But it is nice when you get to feel it anyway,” Amanda smiled.

“You came here…merely to assess my wellbeing?” Spock asked.

“I did not,” Amanda sighed. She reached into a pocket and pulled out a padd. “Shall we go inside? Have some tea, perhaps?”

“That is from my father,” Spock said. It wasn’t a question.

“It can wait a little while,” Amanda bit her lip.

“Tea will be prepared,” Spock said. He led her inside the palace.

****************************************

Jim jumped when the bedroom door opened. He hadn’t been expecting Spock back so soon. It wasn’t Spock. It was T’Pi, and Jim hadn’t even had time to pretend he was engaged in some kind of mindless himbo slave activity. Quickly he looked around to make sure he had nothing to hide, and realized that when the door opened, he’d been checking himself out in the mirror. Was it his fault that his chest looked so good in this shirt? _That_ was a suitably himbo activity, Jim groaned internally.

“Am I disturbing you?” T’Pi asked.

“No, not at all,” Jim said. “Please, come in.” He spread his arms wide, palms open and vulnerable the way Spock had said Vulcans found non-threatening.

“What’s your full name?” T’Pi asked.

“Jim Kirk,” Jim said, confused.

“That doesn’t sound very Orion,” T’Pi raised an eyebrow.

“Almost good enough to pass for Human. At least my parents thought so,” Jim shrugged.

“You are not Human?” T’Pi asked.

“Stuck with this skin tone, but no, I’m not Human. I’m Orion,” Jim lied. He thought quickly, trying to remember bits of what the slaver captain had said. “It’s a rare genetic defect. Less than 1% of my people have it. It makes us ugly.”

“You were green when you arrived,” T’Pi said.

“Ugly slaves don’t sell,” Jim said. “It’s not like I could have warned you. I was gagged.”

“Ugly or not, the Crown Prince appears to have taken a liking to you,” T’Pi said. “Are you injured?”

This was a trap, but Jim saw it coming from a mile away. “Orions heal quickly,” he said, not giving a solid answer one way or another. “I don’t need medical attention, if that’s what you’re asking.” He wondered if a scan would pick up on his species. That would be an easy way to get caught.

T’Pi nodded. “I am T’Pi. Until you arrived, I was the only member of the Crown Prince’s household with whom he directly communicated.”

“Really?” Jim asked.

“He is not particularly friendly, even by Vulcan standards,” T’Pi said.

This was another trap. Jim bowed his head and clasped his hands. “It is not my place to judge my lord’s temperament,” he said carefully.

“What is this?” T’Pi asked, gesturing at him. “You act differently now than you did in the Prince’s presence.”

Jim considered his response carefully. “A dumb slave is a dead slave,” he said. “One must be able to anticipate a Master’s needs, but never seem to be aware of doing so.”

“Have you had a previous owner?” T’Pi asked.

“No,” Jim said. “But…I’ve had all my shots? And I was trained, um, in the usual way.” That lie was a little more difficult. He wasn’t quite sure what she was expecting to hear, which made it difficult to follow that expectation and play his part. He hoped _that_ wasn't a trap.

“I will assign you and other household staff tasks based on your availability,” T’Pi said. “Those tasks will be explained as they come up. It might be some time until you take on any responsibilities, judging from the Prince’s variable need for your services.”

“I live only to serve,” Jim bowed and tried not to sound like he was gritting his teeth.

T’Pi stepped very closed to him and glared. “You are the biggest security risk the ShiKahr Palace has seen in all my years of being here. I can assure you, if you step out of line even once, I will make your life miserable. If you so much as _think_ about hurting the Prince, you will die, slowly,” she growled.

“Understood,” Jim said tightly.

“Wear this,” T’Pi said. She held out a communicator, shaped just like the one Spock wore. Jim took it. “You will be summoned if and when you are needed.”

“Can I use it to summon someone if I need something?” Jim asked, fiddling with the buttons.

“Do not need something,” T’Pi said. She left the bedroom.

Jim held the communicator tightly in both hands. He wasn’t an expert at mechanical stuff, but he could hot wire a communicator or two, he was sure of it. But he’d just learned that his rooms were not the inviolate space he’d gotten used to in the meditation chamber. Best to find something to sit behind, like a screen or something, in case T’Pi came back. Jim looked around. There didn’t seem to be anything big enough to really conceal what he was doing, unless maybe he put the bedsheets up like a curtain in the middle of the room? No, that would be even more suspicious than working out in the open.

Jim settled for climbing into the bed (big enough for two, it didn't escape his notice) with a flashlight. He sat up under the blankets, with the communicator in front of him. He pulled a bobby pin out of his still-green hair and started opening the back of the communicator.

****************************************

Spock sipped his tea as an excuse not to look at Amanda. The padd sat between them on the table.

“A diplomatic mission,” Spock said. “That has never been my father’s way.”

“It doesn’t seem like he intends for anything to happen to you,” Amanda said quietly. “You can take comfort in that.”

“I shall try,” Spock said dryly, raising an eyebrow. “I am hardly the logical choice for a mission of this nature.”

“He wanted it to be you,” Amanda said. “I wish I knew why.”

“I cannot leave this place for a while,” Spock said. “My recent bond with my wife is fragile. I must stay here and tend to it.”

“T’Pring hasn’t left her quarters once since I arrived, has she?” Amanda said sadly. “I thought I’d get to see her.”

“T’Pring is currently sequestered,” Spock said. “She asked not to be disturbed.”

“Even by you?” Amanda asked.

Spock considered. There seemed to be no reasonable response that would answer this question to his mother’s satisfaction. “I wish you wouldn’t worry about me,” Spock said finally.

“What else am I supposed to do?” Amanda asked, her face fallen just slightly. She straightened up and took a sip of her tea. “At least your bond seems healthy. You’re positively glowing, Spock.”

“I am not luminescing in any sense of the word,” Spock frowned.

“You know what I mean,” Amanda laughed. “If you’d like, I could teach you a little of what I learned after a lifetime with your father. How to connect when the bond seems weakest, how to share your negative emotions without overwhelming or being overwhelmed…” She let out a deep, relaxed sigh. “I remember the first time I truly perceived what Sarek felt for me. I revisit that part of our bond often. It helps,” she said.

Spock wanted to know what Jim thought of him. Was Jim happy to be here, even a little? Did he realize what Spock was doing, the lengths to which he went to make Jim feel comfortable? But Jim didn’t even know the bond existed. To probe it any further would be a violation, Spock knew. “I do not require assistance,” he shook his head. When Amanda left, he would redouble his efforts to break the bond.

“The diplomatic mission isn’t for a little while,” Amanda said. “And I’m sure you could bring your bondmate if you wished.”

“I will not,” Spock said firmly.

“Will you visit home before you go?” Amanda asked.

“I…will consider it,” Spock said. They both knew he would agree. He’d never been able to say no to Amanda.

“I suppose I should get back,” Amanda said, setting down her teacup. “Unless you’d like to go for a walk around the palace first?”

Spock pictured Jim throwing himself against the forcefields to try and talk to Amanda. “I cannot spare the time today,” Spock said. “Perhaps when I visit home.”

“All right,” Amanda said. Spock walked her back to her shuttle. “Call me if you need anything,” Amanda said. “I’ve had enough trouble navigating my own bond, and I’d love to help you if I could.”

“I do not think your knowledge will benefit me in my current circumstances, but…I know. I’ll call,” Spock said. Amanda hugged him, and Spock felt again the pangs of joy and optimism she carried inside her.

“See you soon,” Amanda said. She boarded her shuttle and it took off, flying back into the distance, towards the Grand Palace, Sarek’s home. Spock’s communicator chirped.

“Yes, T’Pi?” Spock answered.

“Spock!” It was Jim’s voice, laughing over the comm line. “I did it!”

Unbidden, Spock felt Jim’s side of their link flood with happiness, the joy of being in contact. “Is there an emergency of some kind?” Spock asked, concerned.

“No, just lonely I guess,” Jim said. “Talk to you later.”

“What?” Spock frowned and tapped his communicator a few more times, but Jim didn’t respond.

“Were you trying to contact me, sir?” T’Pi’s voice crackled over the comms.

“I was having a communications glitch,” Spock said.

“I’ll scan the system for errors,” T’Pi said.

“There’s no need,” Spock said quickly. Whatever that human was doing was going to get him caught. Was Jim an idiot? “It was my mistake. The communicator is fully functional.”

“Yes, sir.” T’Pi signed off. Spock balled his hands into fists. He wanted to scream. He could see his future already. Jim was going to work his way into every aspect of Spock’s life, every facet of his conscious mind, every moment of his attention, and Spock was going to let him. And then they would get caught, and Jim would get killed, and then Spock would die, because eventually everything and everyone dies, and nothing Spock had ever done had ever had any meaning, and even if Amanda missed him after he was gone, someday she would die too. Spock fell to his knees in the hangar bay and took deep breaths, trying to calm himself down. There was no point in engaging in repetitive, cyclic thinking in such a manner. He recited the First Doctrines of Logic, trying to ground himself.

“A deductive argument is one that aims to show its conclusion must be true. To say that a logical construction is valid is to say that the premises are true,” Spock whispered it to himself. “In deductive logic, the methods of reasoning and the procedure for finding evidence are investigated…”

****************************************

Jim was pretty sure he was almost connected to a larger communications hub, one that would let him talk to passing ships. Assuming there were any ships passing Vulcan that would accept a signal. He fiddled with his bobby pin in the communicator when he suddenly felt a sharp pain in his chest. He gasped for air. Suddenly, the space under the blanket was claustrophobic and threatening. Jim felt like he was suffocating. He threw the blankets away but they twisted around him like they were alive and knew how to grab him.

He recognized this feeling. He hadn’t felt such raw, spiraling panic in a long time, but he knew it well. He’d never been able to pull himself out of it before, and he wouldn’t now, he’d just have to ride it out. He took deep breaths and waited for it to pass.

The panic subsided more quickly than he'd expected, and Jim began to get feeling back in his limbs again. He stopped shaking (mostly) and started collecting communicator bits from the floor where he’d accidentally thrown them.

“To say that a logical construction is valid is to say that the premises are true,” Jim muttered to himself. He paused, his hand just inches away from his bobby pin. “That’s weird. I can’t remember where I heard that,” Jim frowned. He picked up the bobby pin and put it back in his hair. “To say that a logical construction is valid is to say that the premises are true…I must have heard it somewhere,” he frowned. He sighed, looking down at the communicator. It was going to need a little more work than he’d planned.


End file.
